Music Box
by lilly32261
Summary: A collection of oneshots inspired by lyrics from various songs. T to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so long time no write. I browsed through my folder of started but never finished things, and didn't find anything worth finishing. Well, except the one that needs to become a oneshot or get a plot or something like that. That'll be up eventually. So in the meantime, I've decided to do this. It's a collection of lyric-inspired pieces. Are the lyrics taken out of context? You betcha. Are they all going to be canon? Probably not. Will these be updated with any kind of regularity? Well, knowing my record with that, I'm going to be honest and admit that the answer is no.**

**And here is a generic spoiler warning, since I know I won't remember to put it at the beginning of every chapter like I should. Spoilers for anything and everything in all seasons.**

_**Not mine, don't own. I'm just borrowing. :) **  
_

_We're setting the fires to light the way; we're burning it all to begin again. (Bricks, Rise Against)_

Peter didn't say anything. It would appear that there was nothing left to say, but Neal knew better. Peter had every right to be upset. He should have been angry. He should have been sad. He should never have come back for Neal.

In all honesty, he probably should have put Neal in cuffs.

But instead, Peter drove. Neal sat in the passenger seat. The silence that stretched between them didn't really have hidden meaning. Or rather, it had too much hidden meaning. One of those where both parties are feeling more than they care to admit. Yet it wasn't a threatening sort of silence; more than anything else, it seemed disappointed.

Not that Peter didn't have every right to be disappointed.

"I'm sorry," Neal said finally.

Peter didn't answer immediately. His face remained mostly blank, and that bothered Neal more than he cared to admit. There was no reason for Peter to try and hide what he was feeling.

"Don't be." The response came suddenly and threw Neal off guard.

"Why not? Peter, I ran. I could have been a free man but instead I left. I betrayed your trust. After everything we did that day… I should have stayed."

Peter shook his head, the motion brief and jerking. "No. You did what you had to do. Kramer was going to have you arrested and take you for himself. If you had stayed, you would have been shipped away to DC."

Neal remained silent.

"You weren't going to end up as a free man. It wouldn't have happened, regardless of what they decided at the commutation hearing."

Neal wasn't surprised. That seemed inevitable, really. In the end they would have caught him for something else, or he would have had to run another con. He wouldn't be able to stay on the good side of the law for long, regardless of what he might like to tell himself late at night when he can't sleep.

"Now what?"

Peter shrugged with a feigned nonchalance. "I don't know, Neal. You're back here, but Kramer's gone."

"You're ignoring the part where I ran without telling you," Neal replied softly.

"Yeah. That too."

Neal studied his friend. Peter's jaw was tensed, but his face remained impassive. The mask still bothered the con man. If anything, he was the one who should be blanking out all emotions. Peter could have been relieved, or angry. He could have yelled and threatened to put Neal back behind bars. He should have slapped some cuffs on Neal at the very least.

Instead, the silence reigned supreme.

"What am I going to do?" Neal asked.

"Nothing. _You_ are not going to go behind my back. I'm not going to pretend that I don't know that you're back here. _We_, however, are going to work through this. I'm going to keep you here, Neal, if it kills me. You wouldn't do well in DC." Peter paused and glanced at Neal, breaking his gaze away from the road for the first time since they had climbed into the car. "Unless, of course, you want to go to DC?"

"I have a family here," Neal said simply. "I want to stay."

"I don't know how we'll do it, but we'll find a way to keep you here."

Before the silence could take over again, Neal said, "Thank you, Peter."

They lapsed back into silence. The streetlights illuminated Peter's face and then shrank away with a predictable, even pattern. Bit by bit, streetlight after streetlight, Neal saw the mask slip away. Then his friend's face held only relief. No anger, no disappointment. Just relief.

"We're not going to be able to go back to what we had before."

"What?" Peter sounded surprised.

"After everything that's happened, after, well, _this_, I'm surprised you aren't sending me back to prison."

Peter slowed and turned a corner before answering. "After everything, I don't think I would be _able_ to send you back to jail just for _this_."

Neal smiled, but it wasn't a drawn up sort of thing. On the contrary, he couldn't help it. For once, he smiled and meant it. He smiled and it wasn't a lie. It was everything that he felt, everything that couldn't be conveyed in words.

Everything that Peter would just understand.


	2. Chapter 2

**The second chapter already. Shocking, isn't it? This turned out completely different from what I expected and considerably longer than I planned. Any mistakes are mine.**

I_ have my mother's dreams, I have my father's eyes, you can't take that from me, just go ahead and try. (Help is on the Way, Rise Against)_

Neal Caffrey could never be tied down. He needed excitement in his life and plenty of freedom. When the tracking device first locked around his ankle, it took every bit of self restraint he possessed not to reach down and tug at it, or pick the guard's pocket to get the key. He hated the feeling of things that he couldn't remove. That rule applied to everything from hospital bracelets to that anklet. Though he had to admit that the hospital bracelets weren't so bad after he learned how to get them off with only his fingers, a bit of patience, and a ton of persistence.

His mother didn't approved of that bit of knowledge. The nurses and doctors never seemed to care for it much either.

The anklet wasn't as easy to remove when compared to that pile of hospital bracelets. He forced himself to be satisfied the knowledge that he could cut if he really, _truly_ needed to. But knowing that he couldn't remove it at will just because he felt like it ate away at him in the beginning. He needed that freedom physically. Knowing that it could be done – in theory – wasn't enough.

Yet something always stopped him from cutting it just for the hell of it, no matter how desperate or restless he became. He would need a reason. Yes, a reason, and a good one at that. He didn't quite know why at the beginning, so he lied to himself, made excuses like how he needed to build Peter's trust before he ran.

But in the end, it was Peter's trust that kept him there. The trust that Neal had painstakingly cultivated, the trust that Neal felt he could just be able to turn away from when the right time came, was the same trust that kept him there in the end.

His mother used to explain to him patiently that life held some things worth sticking around for. She always cited her love for his father as one of them, and at the time, Neal made faces and told her that he would never, _ever_ fall in love. She replied that love wasn't the only thing worth staying in one place for.

Neal never really believed her. He needed excitement and new scenery. Any sort of long-term relationship would mess that up. Relationships would tie him down.

Then Kate entered the picture. He thought she was the one. He believed that he would do anything for her. But when it came time to get on that plane, something made him hesitate.

That something was Peter.

The thought that someone could truly care for him (deep down he knew that Kate didn't care for him all that much in the end) surprised Neal. His father died, his mother lied. When he found out, it ruined everything. He promised never to trust anyone again, vowed to keep to himself to avoid being hurt like that again.

Peter made Neal break that promise.

His memories of Peter rescuing him from the Hearts Wide Open clinic were fuzzy, but he remembered enough. Oddly enough, the only one that came across with any clarity was when he admitted that yes, he trusted the FBI agent who had arrested him. That confession kept him up some nights when he couldn't get his brain to just shut up and let him be. Telling someone something like that was dangerous. Telling _Peter_ something like that was dangerous. To speak those words aloud was to open himself to betrayal. Painful, horrible betrayal of the kind that can only come from trusting someone explicitly.

But Peter didn't betray him. Peter, who had no reason to reciprocate that trust, stayed. Peter became the only infallible, certain thing in his hectic life.

Sometimes Neal felt like he should leave. To run and never look back would be to spare Peter and El much pain that he would inevitably bring on. El never would have been kidnapped by Keller if Neal hadn't allowed himself to grow close to her and Peter. They didn't deserve to have him in their lives, and he didn't mean it in a stuck up sort of way.

It took another holding cell and sleep deprivation to get Neal to admit that people cared for him, that for once in his life he could call a place a home and know people thought of him as family. A case had gone wrong, and some uncaring NYPD officer slapped cuffs on him. They were all waiting for Peter to get there, but it was two in the morning and Neal felt bad about his partner being woken just for him.

As he waited, thoughts ran through his mind. Not all were pleasant, but he didn't have the mental capacity to block them out or redirect them. Eventually they turned to his freedom. It had been an hour and it was starting to feel like Peter wasn't coming. Maybe Peter had finally given up, or maybe he was just busy. The former seemed the most likely to sleep-deprived Neal.

To reassure himself, he made a list of things they couldn't do to him. They couldn't take his hopes and dreams. They couldn't take his memories. They couldn't take his eyes or his hands. They couldn't take Peter or El. They couldn't take away the past several years or what had happened. They couldn't take his freedom.

Neal couldn't even remember who 'they' were supposed to be. It also didn't register that the list didn't make any sense.

When Peter finally did come, Neal could barely stand. Peter and another man Neal didn't know helped into the Taurus. The first thing out of his mouth when he was alone with Peter was, "They can't take everything."

Peter glanced at him. "No, Neal, I don't suppose they can," he replied with a bit of uncertainty. The unspoken response came across as something along the lines of, "Are you okay?"

"Everyone always used to tell me that I have my father's eyes. Isn't that silly? How can I have my father's eyes?" Neal laughed. "But you know what's true? I have my mother's dreams. I always wanted to travel like her, to live the life she gave up."

"Was she a criminal?"

Neal shook his head firmly. "No, no. She just traveled. She went to new places for the sake of seeing what was there. And then…"

Peter glanced at him again. "And then?"

"She met my dad and gave it up."

"Oh."

"Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I'm going to throw up."

Peter's response was speedy and appropriate. He pulled over to the side of the road and climbed out of the car. He helped Neal free himself of the seatbelt and kept a hand on his partner's back while Neal puked.

Peter wordlessly offered the younger man a water bottle retrieved from the trunk when he was done emptying the contents of his stomach into the gutter.

"Thanks," Neal said.

Peter crouched beside Neal and rested the back of his hand against Neal's forehead. "You feel pretty warm. You're spending the rest of the night at my place."

"Oh, Peter, you don't have to. I wouldn't want to get you or El sick, and you don't need to put up with me while I'm puking –"

"You're coming home with me, and that's final. El would kill both of us if I just dropped you off at June's and hoped for the best." Peter stood up and stuck a hand out to help Neal up.

"Think you're done? More importantly, do you think we can make it home without another… incident?"

Neal shook his head tiredly. "I don't know. I feel better now…"

"Well, we can always stop again." Peter opened the door and Neal climbed in. By the time Peter circled around to the driver's side and climbed in, Neal was glaring resolutely at his seatbelt and stubbornly attempting to fit it into the buckle.

"Need help?"

Neal glanced up, almost guiltily, and hesitated. Eventually, he nodded and surrendered control of the stubborn seatbelt to Peter, who buckled it easily.

Peter started the drive back home once again, and Neal drifted in and out of a feverish sleep. A few times he woke and muttered something, but Peter couldn't usually make it out. A few times he caught things like 'home' and 'staying,' but he didn't know what to make of the disjointed words.

When they finally reached Peter's house, Neal had been asleep for more than ten minutes. Peter toyed with the thought of just letting him sleep, but there it would be impossible to get Neal into the house, up the stairs, and into a bed, even with El's help. There was nothing to do but wake him up.

"Neal?" he called softly. "Neal, we're here. You have to wake up."

Neal moaned. "Why?"

"Because I can't carry you. We've tried that once before and it didn't work too well. Remember?"

Neal opened his eyes. His hand fumbled for the seatbelt, and he managed to unlatch it without difficulty. He climbed out of the Taurus and collapsed into Peter's arms.

"Sorry, 'm a little off balance… and tired…" He yawned.

"I see that, buddy. We just have to get you inside, and then you can sleep some more. If you can't handle stairs, you can have the couch."

"Mhm…"

Peter stayed close to Neal as he climbed the stairs to the front door. Neal's eyes were barely open and he stumbled a bit, but he didn't fall over, which Peter was glad for. He wasn't sure what he would do if Neal fell again.

When Neal lay safely on the couch with a blanket wrapped around him and a pillow under his head, he spoke again.

"Peter, I trust you."

Just like before, Peter didn't know how to respond. He struggled to find the appropriate words, but failed. Luckily, Neal pressed on, saving Peter from making a fool of himself with a half-assed response that would have been absolutely meaningless.

"Don't betray me."

This time the words came easily to Peter's tongue. "I won't, Neal."

But Neal's breathing had already evened out, his eyes shut tight. He was asleep.

…

Peter slept in the recliner next to Neal. He knew it would kill his back, but that didn't matter. Neal woke several times, but didn't throw up again. He would ask for water or make a seemingly random statement before drifting back off to sleep.

Around four in the morning, he woke and asked, "Peter? Are you awake?"

"Yeah." Peter's voice sounded drowsy, but Neal pressed on anyway.

"Thank you."

"For what?" Peter frowned slightly, running through a mental checklist of things he had done that week. Nothing popped up that he could see Neal thanking him for.

"Everything. For not leaving me to rot in that cell. For taking a chance and for not turning me away… For giving me a home and a family. For caring."

…

The next morning, Neal's first words were, "Don't take anything I said last night at face value. I was delirious."

Peter only grinned at him.


	3. Chapter 3

_I know you hate this one, but this is how the story ends… or have we just begun? (Where the Story Ends, The Fray)_

Neal yanked the bag out from under his bed and shoved the forged passport into a front pocket. He pulled the suit off, his motions still hurried but now respectful of the material. He changed into a cheap, ill-fitting suit and grabbed a pen off the table. He scribbled out a note thanking June and left it on the table. He briefly toyed with the idea of folding it into a crane or a rose or something, but he didn't have time.

He shouldered the bag and picked up his fedora. For a moment, Neal hesitated. Then he tossed the hat onto the table where it came to rest by the note. He started towards the door, paused, then abruptly turned around. Knowing the sentiment might get him shot later, he turned back towards the table and grabbed the badge that labeled him as a consultant. He shoved it in his pocket and started back towards the door.

Just as he went to pull the door open, someone knocked.

Panic crossed Neal's features for a fraction of a second before he slipped his face into pleasant surprise. He kept the bag on his shoulder as he opened the door.

"Going somewhere?" Peter asked.

Neal stepped away from the door, letting his friend enter. "I shouldn't tell you. I want you to have plausible deniability."

"Of course." Peter glanced around the room, taking in the state of controlled chaos. Neal knew where pretty much everything he needed to take resided, but one couldn't just rush around like he had without leaving trace evidence. "And June?"

"There's a note." Neal shut the door and leaned against it, hands in his pockets. "Peter, you shouldn't be here."

"You shouldn't have tried to leave without saying goodbye," Peter countered.

"True. Goodbye." Neal shifted from foot to foot.

"You think I'm going to let you go that easily, Caffrey? I didn't arrest you just to let you slip away." Peter crossed his arms and settled on the arm of the couch.

"Well?" Neal snapped.

"How long will you be gone?"

"I doubt I'll be able to come back. If I do, it'll be with a new identity. I won't be able to talk to you or El. It would put you in danger."

Peter nodded slowly, taking this in.

"Anything else?" Neal challenged, his tone impatient.

Peter shrugged.

"I'm going to stay on the good side of the law, if that helps any." Neal's voice softened a bit, dropping the false irritation and that steely edge. Peter cared. That was the only reason he had come.

There was a pause.

"So this is how it ends?" Peter asked finally.

"Peter, you knew this could never work out. Not in the end." Neal shook his head. "Kramer was right. I know you hate goodbyes, so let's keep it short."

"Goodbye then." Peter stood up.

"Bye, Peter."

Neal turned his back on his friend and opened the door. At the top of the stairs, he hesitated, turning around.

"Thanks. For everything."

Peter nodded once and watched his partner, his friend, leave.

He restrained himself for just long enough for Neal to turn the corner and disappear before he had to run down the stairs after him. Peter managed to get outside just as Neal began to climb into the taxi.

"Caffrey! You do realize that I'm going to have to track you back down and throw you in prison?"

Neal turned, one hand on the door of the taxi. He flashed a grin and then climbed in. The taxi pulled away, and Neal was gone.

A paper crane sat on the ground where Neal had been standing. Peter picked it up, weighing it in his hand. After a moment, he unfolded it, his fingers fumbling against the unfamiliar and all too delicate folds. Eventually he managed to get it flat.

On the paper was a short message, written in Neal's familiar hand.

_This isn't the last time you'll see me. NC_


	4. Chapter 4

_I'm sick and tired of playing your games. (First Drop, Rise Against)_

Neal hated it. The constant scrutiny he could ignore or brush off. No, what really bothered him were the agents that viewed him as little more than a plaything. For all intents and purposes, he _was_ the FBI's pet. When they told him to jump, he jumped. When they said sit, he sat. They always knew where he was, and if they asked, he would tell them what he was doing.

To them, it was a game. He was a source of entertainment, not a person.

He hated it, but he didn't let it show.

They weren't going to win.

**My first drabble. :D (Not counting the lyrics). This would be set in the very first part of the first season, or on a bad night in the beginning of the second.**


	5. Chapter 5

_All I can give them's my worst of intentions. You're nothing to me and everyone can see that your life's a lie, there's nowhere left to hide. (My Life for a Hire, A Day to Remember)_

"Neal, what do you think?"

Neal didn't speak. He raised one eyebrow and smirked, but he didn't say a word. He didn't have anything to say to these people. He belonged in New York with Peter, not in DC with Kramer.

Kramer sighed. "Neal, I asked you a question. You are required to answer it."

Neal's smirk grew wider, but he still didn't speak.

"Neal, I told you to answer my question. You can either answer, or I can send you back to prison."

"I'll take the prison option." Neal grinned at Kramer. "Oh, and I don't believe we're on a first name basis here. To you, I'm Mr. Caffrey. Not Neal."

"You don't tell me what to do."

Neal shrugged. Then, in one fluid motion, he rose to his feet, knocking over the cup of coffee in front of him. The liquid flowed out of the cup and onto the table, destroying the papers littering the tabletop with ease. He turned and walked out the door.

"Neal!" Kramer called.

Neal stopped and turned around. "As I said before, I'm not Neal to you. We aren't on a first name basis, and we never were. We never will be."

Kramer ignored his statement. "No more putting random things in the coffee, understand?"

Neal flashed a grin and slammed the door behind him. Jail would be infinitely preferable to this.

…

He hated DC. The agents treated him like another tool in their belt. Kramer barely tolerated him and never respected him, not like Peter had. When Neal _did_ bother to share what he thought about the current case, Kramer ignored him until he could have it verified by a 'trusted' source.

Kramer said Neal had to work his way up if he wanted to be respected. Neal smiled, nodded, and left to go throw something else in the coffeepot. It might have been childish and immature, but he thought it was fitting. If they were going to treat him like a child who needs to have his hand held, he would act like a child. It wasn't like he planned on staying.

Everything he did was meticulously designed to push Kramer closer to the edge. Eventually the agent would crack, throw Neal in cuffs, and he would be back in prison. Prison would be heaven compared to this. Freedom didn't count for much when he remained stuck in the cheap hotel room they assigned him to. It didn't mean anything when he returned to it to find that someone searched it every day while he sat in silence in a room with Kramer for eight to nine hours. He didn't keep anything there, and they knew it, but they still insisted on searching it. The violation of privacy shouldn't have bothered Neal that much in theory, seeing how he didn't keep anything there and didn't care that much for the place. But it was all he had, the only place he could call his own for even a few minutes.

Working with Peter had changed him. A thief can't let himself grow attached to anything. He can't have a home or a family. Every city is just another mark in the end, and someday he would have to walk away. But New York became home, Peter and El became family. Neal missed them more than he cared to admit, and for the first time in his life he felt homesick. He wanted the brand of crappy FBI coffee that wasn't spiked with whatever he could smuggle in or find lying around.

Speaking of which…

Neal glanced around the bright kitchen. He tossed a stapler in yesterday, so that wouldn't do. Pens had been his first item, along with some ink from a printer. Those pots had been thrown out. This time, though, he really wanted to make it clear that he didn't approve of this working arrangement.

He looked in the cupboards. Tea, the mix for the coffee… Salt, and sugar. Those would do nicely.

The whole container of salt went into the half-empty pot just because it could. Neal stirred it carefully, making sure most of it dissolved. Then he threw in some sugar, put in some more water, and stirred. The coffee went back to its home and the sugar back up to the cupboard. He threw the empty salt container in the trash and went into the bathroom.

He washed his hands so he could say he really had just been in the bathroom and headed back to the room where Kramer waited.

"Neal, what makes you think you can just leave like that?"

Neal shrugged. "I had to go to the bathroom."

"Really now."

"Yep." Neal nodded earnestly. "I can prove it."

Kramer crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "Why don't I believe you?"

"Look." Neal stuck his hands out, presenting his evidence to Kramer. "My hands are wet. If you can't believe me, that's your problem, _Philip_."

"Neal, you may not call me by my first name. I demand more respect than that. To you, I'm Agent Kramer, or if you can't manage the title, just Kramer."

"Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Philip."

"You need to understand something. Making things difficult for me will result in your life becoming hell. You need to get these behavior issues under control before I'm forced to take action to prevent them."

Neal leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him. "You know the problem with that? You can't make my life hell when I'm already there."

"You speak as if you've hit rock bottom."

Neal laughed. "Maybe it's because I have? And when one hits rock bottom, they have nothing left to lose. Is that what you want? Me to have nothing left to lose?"

Kramer paused while he tried to think of a reply. Neal didn't break eye contact.

"You're lying to me, trying to con me."

"Believe what you will." Neal shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me. Not in the end, anyway."

Kramer opened his mouth to reply, but another agent walked in, holding a cup of coffee. "Here, boss," she said brightly.

Kramer accepted the coffee. "Thank you, Emma."

"No problem!" She smiled and him. "Hey, Neal. How's your day been?"

Neal shrugged. "The usual. Philip and I here are butting heads and trying to prove who's better." He grinned at her.

She laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Well, have fun with that. Just… try not to kill him, okay?"

"Would I do a thing like that?" Neal asked innocently.

"Well, no. But you would drive him crazy. Try not to push him too much, Caffrey."

"No promises." Neal flashed her a smile and she laughed.

"Ah well." She walked out the door.

"What's going on between you and her?" Kramer asked.

"Nothing." Neal shook his head. "In case you haven't noticed, I flirt with most girls I see."

It was a lie. He liked Emma, maybe because she seemed innocent despite everything. Or maybe it was how she seemed able to make things right just by being in the room. He wasn't falling for her, no. He wouldn't even let himself do the one night stand thing. She didn't deserve that, didn't deserve him.

"You don't flirt with anyone here but her," Kramer countered.

"That's because she's the only one here with a sense of humor, Philip."

"Really now."

"Yep."

Kramer raised the cup of coffee to his lips and took a rather large drink. His expression turned to shock, and then disgust. With some effort, he swallowed.

"Caffrey, what did you put in the coffee?"

"There we go!" Neal said happily. "You're finally respecting me enough to use my last name!"

"Answer my question." The demand came out low and threatening.

"I didn't do anything to it." Neal shrugged, his features innocent. "Must have been a ghost."

"This is the last straw." Kramer slammed the cup down, the tainted coffee sloshing over the side and onto the table. He stood up and started towards the door. "I'm going to go make some calls."

"Want to put me in cuffs first? They like that, the prison. It's easier for them. They get to skip a step."

"Not to the prison. I'm going to go call Peter."

"Oh! Well, tell him I said hi!" Neal grinned and leaned back in the chair, propping his feet up on the table, making sure to scuff it.

"You're just digging yourself deeper, Caffrey." Kramer stormed out of the room, the door slamming behind him.

"And what if deeper is where I want to be?" Neal asked the empty room. "What if it's going to accomplish my goals?"

The room didn't reply, though outside a bird chirped.

In the back of his mind, Neal started working out how to run back to New York. He would need a plane and Mozzie…

**So, this might turn into a longer piece. Chapter four can be taken as part of this as well. Thanks to the lovely anonymous reviewer who pointed out that ch. 4 could be if Neal ended up in DC. Your comment inspired this. **


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